Sleepers
by Tortured Hylian Soul
Summary: A routine trip gone horribly wrong. Survival is the key. Just keep on going, and cling to whoever you can find... -L/Light-
1. Game Start

The first lucid memory Light recalled- something different, more meaningful than the ringing in his ears or the pain (_oh the pain mom, the pain_) racking his being- was a pair of lips clamping down on his own. Forced to rely on other senses than sight, he deducted that the pair of lips were definitely a man's- hard and spitless and forcing air deep into his lungs.

_Oh, you've gone and done it again, you dumbass,_ Light thought. _You swam in that ocean again, just to prove how man you are to your kid sister, haven't you? Even after dadtoldyounotto-_ ah!

"_Breathe_, Raito!" Light began to cough, beginning to notice that the pain was now less of a hum upon his body and more of a burning on his wrist as it centered in that area. Just as he was beginning to collect his thoughts, the air returned, forcing itself into his lungs the way a man would force _that_ into an unwilling woman. It tasted of chocolate ice cream and syrup, of chocolate chip cookies and gummy worms, and Light choked at the raw _sweetness_ of it. Warmth flooded on the back of his neck- he could feel the heat _dripping_- yet he felt no wound there.

"_Damn it!_" It took a few moments to conclude that this was cursed under the man's breath in English, but that was all he needed before the air was back, sweet and poisonous yet so full of _life_. _I'll breathe I'll breathe stop forcing-!_

Light finally coughed, long and in a string of violent attacks, shooting up into a sitting position, screaming and horrified that he had just been raped by _air_.

When his vision no longer swam, he realized that he was in Hell.

Fire and sun-baked earth clogged his vision. It was so _hot_, and his left wrist _burned_ while his ankle sung. And there was a demon, beckoning him further into the bowels of the-

No, it was Ryuzaki. Even paler, clouded eyes wider than usual, trembling violently as he circled his lap with his arms- _Ryuzaki_!

"Raito-kun is-is alright, n-?" That was all he could say before he curled into himself, a few agonized tears escaping his lids before that disgusting mop of hair replaced his face. By the time Light had managed to crawl to the other, he had bellowed a few agonized groans.

"Ryuzaki, what the _hell_?" Not the greatest or most intelligent thing to say, but the older male rose, trembling ever more as every last pigment left his flesh. Cradled in his lap, Raito eyed the pale blue plastic of the ice bucket from the freezer in the plane.

And then he saw what was once Ryuzaki's right hand.

-

"It was a clean cut," Ryuzaki murmured as Light attempted to cease the blood flow with widened eyes. "When I-I aw-woke, it was wedged between two pieces of muh-metal. I did something as simple as pull away, a-and-." He left the sentence forever incomplete, allowing Light to fill in the obvious as he closed his eyes.

Said teen ripped the cuff of his sleeve and wrapped it around the stumps of his companion's fingers, somehow recalling when and where he received this particular shirt. Misa bought it for him on a shopping date- so of course he hated the damn thing-, but what seemed the most lucid was the slogan on the poster hung on the mall window: **WHITE DAY sale TUESDAY thru FRIDAY, all HOT dresses HALF OFF**. Sure as hell useful.

Nonetheless, it seemed perfect for this trip; it would appease Misa, and only Ryuzaki would have the nerve to poke fun at him on the plane ride.

"Ryuzaki, we need to _move_. Now."

"Huh?"

"In case the plane explodes! _Boom!_ Buh-bye pwane!" He was too exhausted to care that he had just shed a few IQ points upon uttering that phrase that Sayu had used repeatedly in her toddler years.

"I cannot," Ryuzaki murmured bluntly, tremors strengthening in his flesh. He lifted his left arm, and it took all of the willpower Light possessed to hold back his midday meal. A shard of glass, about a quarter of a meter in length and a few centimeters thick, had pierced Ryuzaki's thigh, holding it fast against the cracks of the earth. Thick muscle and a whisper of pale bone shone under the sun.

Without thought- a rarity nowadays- Light grasped for the edge, only to be intercepted by Ryuzaki's good arm. "It'll _hurt, _Raito." Light felt a scream in his throat, a desire to throttle the man- he looked and sounded so _pathetic_-!

"_L_, if we do not remove it, we will both certainly die out here, or would you be willing to give me the key to these cuffs so only _one_ of us shall go?" L's eyes darkened, but he lifted his arm hesitantly and allowed Light purchase.

The damn thing was planted in there good. On his third attempt, hands bloody and ears echoing with L's agonized moans, the shard shifted, but only succeeded in further enlarging the view of the bone, spawning a scream that shook Light's very mind.

Panting and coated in a film of perspiration, the teen took a breather, hands shaking as he witnessed drops of his own blood sliding down the glass and joining L's reddened flesh. "L, I need _help_ here." He clasped down on the jagged surface once more, flesh screaming before L's hesitant, trembling hands clamped down on his own. Blood leaked out of the white cloth of the makeshift tourniquet, the blood of the two mingling on the earth as both _pulled, _Light begging his body to hold on as he felt the stump of L's ring finger press into his own.

Several attempts at freeing the shard passed and the two only succeeded in allowing the agony to grow on L's behalf. Four tries later, the shard shifted once more, and then finally the earth gave way after three more tries. The momentum sent both males flying backwards, Light realizing that air never tasted so fine as his shaking hands released the glass onto his torso. The same warmth he had felt earlier flowed over his breast, and he twitched, realizing that L's mangled hand had inadvertently coated his neck in scarlet during the CPR session.

He rose, tossing the glass away with disgust, sucking in lungfuls of air before turning towards L. The man had shouted when the glass was ripped free, and was now writhing on the ground, his throat only allowing silent screams as he clutched at the dry earth.

Light got to his feet for the first time before crumpling to the ground. He had forgotten about his ankle. The teen examined it with a practiced eye; only a sprain. He crawled on his hands and knees, swallowing his pride as he followed the chain to L. "Just a sprain," he murmured under L's stare, "I got them all the time in tennis. I'll walk it off eventually." The detective grunted in understanding; _been there, done that._

Light rose to his knees, eyeing a chunk of metal far off in the distance with a shielded stare; a destination and a temporary shelter from the afternoon sun. He made his way upward slowly, a motion at a time, before he settled on his right ankle. The pain radiating from his left dulled, but did not disappear. However, he had to make do.

Carefully, he placed a hand beneath each of L's armpits, earning a grunt of mild shock and protest from the older male. "Get used to it; I'm not enjoying this either." Light managed to pull the detective to his knees before placing him on his good leg, stepping forward as each supported the other.

They managed several feet before either spoke. "I need my fingers." Light repeated that in his head, feeling anger bubble deep inside his chest. His willpower almost gave way under the option of decking him right there.

"We need to get out of the sun. The blood flow is more important than your fingers right now." L shook his head awkwardly, like one without joints in their neck.

"I have… a means of communication in my pocket. It is rather fortunate that I did not lose it in the crash, along with the key- almost unrealistic- but…" He paused when his head fell forward with a cracking neck, legs beginning to tremble as he stared at the slow procession of their feet. "One- a specific one- of my fingers must be scanned before I can contact anyone." Light sucked in more air than necessary, releasing it sharply.

"Hold on." Within a few minutes, they reached what appeared to be a discarded wing of the small plane. Light did little more than drop L into its shadow, but he did not scream this time. Light was thankful for that much "I need the key. I'll go get your damn fingers. If you refuse, I suppose I'll drag you along." He possessed not the energy to do so, but stood firm with his measured gaze.. L studied him for a moment, then made a face that could only signify a mental shrug, the flesh too exhausted to do so itself.

"You wouldn't make it anyways." The detective's left hand reached into his right pocket; Light could hear the _zree! _of a zipper and a rustle of several small objects before he plucked a puzzle box from the depths of the cloth. Completing it with one hand took a bit longer, but L solved the rather large puzzle in less than two minutes. This level gave way to a numbered lock that was solved in seconds, and a tiny, sweat-drenched key was placed in Light's waiting palm.

"Are you joking." It came out as a statement rather than a question. "This looks like it was pulled out of a board game."

"How is Raito so sure it was not?" L curled on his side with a pained grunt, and Light could not help but recall a homeless man he had seen in childhood on the side of the sidewalk. A bottle of cheap sake, a filthy hat… He turned away and laughed to himself. Two seconds later, a thought dawned.

"Did you ever see Mike?"

"… Who?" Light grit his teeth as L cracked an eye halfway open.

"The _pilot_, asshat!"

"Your lu-language is unbecoming, Raito-kun."

-

Finding the first finger was not too difficult. It lay next to a burning chunk of upholstery that had to belong to the pilot's seat. Light immediately tossed it into one of the two containers he held; the ice bucket that L had clutched onto for dear life, and a warped chunk of metal similar in appearance to a bowl, which held the majority of the ice for drinking water. A few moments later, he found Mike, still strapped to his seat.

"Mike…?" The man appeared to be only unconscious, a blotch of purple below his graying hairline and a few cuts across his wrinkled visage. For a moment, the teenager thought that awakening the man would lead to words lost in translation. Light's English was well above that of an average Japanese student, but Mike had an accent that made it difficult to converse with anyone besides L. He then concluded that this was a ridiculous thought. "Mike…" All it took was a gentle tug of his shirt before the seatbelts lost their purpose.

Mike's upper half slid onto the ground face first with an unappealing wet sound, only connected to his lower body by shiny gray intestines. After awakening in pain, seeing L mangled in such a way, all of those crime scenes his father-

Light emptied the contents of his stomach right there.

-

The detective had now pulled himself into a sitting position, sweat matting filthy black hair to his forehead, able to see from one glassy eye. The paleness of his skin was greater than usual beneath the setting sun, the only color two pink dots on his cheeks.

"I saw two of them burning over there," Light said with gritted teeth, bringing the bucket downwards and- somewhat stiffly, but willingly- allowing L a drink of the now tepid water from his other hand.

"It was unwise to allow yourself to vomit, Raito-kun." L continued to tremble, but appeared to be in a state of numbness, eyelids drooping. "You now have little to subsist on while we are here."

Light shot him a certain finger before crumpling in a heap parallel to the older male.

-

Light awoke to the sound of breaking rock.

He shot up immediately. An earthquake, a fucking landslide-!

A van. He blinked. Still there.

"_Oi!_" He shouted in Japanese at the top of his lungs, blubbering like a madman as he raced across the soil, not even wondering what he looked like as he waved his arms like a bird about to take off into the sky.

-

"My Uncle Takashi,"- the first name that came to mind- "was flying us across the desert while we visited him here." He limped quickly, the two men following. The taller one had not even put down his rifle when he left the van. "My friend is hurt badly, but he's alive. I wish I could say so for Uncle…" One of the things he hated about speaking another language was the fact that he constantly had to dumb himself down while talking.

"Aw rally?" Rifle said. As luck would have it, he possessed a thick accent. "He dun _lurk_ awkay…"

Light stopped once the crumpled form of the man came into sight. L was… He had not moved when Light had begun to shout, but L was the type that fell into a deep, thick sleep…

"Hideki!" The teenager lowered to shake L's shoulder. He was so pale, the fresh cloth applied to his wounds earlier now soaked through with blood-.

The detective's eyes opened slowly, like a curtain rising on a stage. His eyes held confusion before registering Light. "Hideki." Light's eyes hardened. "It's me, _Ryo_. We need to take you to a hospital." On _we_, L eyed the gun cradled in Rifle's arms with suspicion and what appeared to be fear.

"Don't worry about that." The other man spoke up for the first time as he lit a cigarette. "Your friend looked quite insane as he flagged us down. We don't need it anymore." Light suppressed a frown as he lifted L, his ankle forgotten. Rifle immediately lifted L himself into his arms. The detective shot an appalled glance over the man's shoulder at the teen, but he only grinned, overjoyed by the rescue.

"Holey shut." Rifle eyed L's hand and thigh once the detective had ceased squirming stubbornly and gone limp. Light clutched the bucket, now containing only a puddle of gore.

"It has only been a few hours. Can we still attach them? Hideki loves the piano." Light ignored the burning gaze he felt burrowing into his flesh as Nic- short for Nicotine- puffed smoke through his nostrils.

"You're in the middle of the desert. Death Valley. Nearest hospital 's a little over a hundred miles away. Be too late then." He took a long drag, and both teen and detective wanted to throttle him for it. "_I_ can attach it, though. We have thread and super glue in the truck."

"_Whoa!_" Rifle shifted balance as L jumped in his grasp, eyes wide as he turned that phrase over in his mind. "_Easy_, ked!"

"_Ryo_." The low volume did not mute the harshness, the desperation in L's voice as Japanese poured out of him. "_How do we know-?_"

"We don't," Light forced through gritted teeth. "But we have to take a chance. We could sit here and wait for another car, if you wish."

"My _fingers_…"

"It's now or never. I'm not going to force you to reattach them-."

"I am not allowing that _imbecile_ near me with surgical tools. He will find a way to turn my former index finger into a third thumb. Besides, such a procedure would end in my fingers rotting off." He paused to choke down pride as he measured his words. "I am in no state to fix anything myself. Despite the six percent possibility of homicide, I am willing to allow _you _near my wounds, and _only_ y-!"

"Durn wurrey." Rifle interrupted with a grin, L gagging as the unexpected scent of gin pried his nostrils open. "Sean hur es reel gud with taxonermy. He'll fix yer up in ner tam."

All faith was lost when the other man failed to correct him.

-

L jumped in Light's grasp when the double doors of the van shrieked closed. "Yer frund awkay?" Rifle- _Eddie_- bellowed from the driver's seat.

"He has a bad fear of closed spaces." Light received a heated scowl for that, but L jerked theatrically when Light pried open a creaking first aid kit, the hinges rusted and red cross faded. "We need to get him to a hospital as soon as possible in order to attach his fingers." The motor coughed, then rumbled to life as the teen unrolled a pile of gauze, severing the rotted leg of L's denims with a dull scalpel. "All I can accomplish for now is stopping the bleeding." The detective visibly relaxed.

"What about his fingers?" Nic- Sean- asked, no visible change in expression as he eyed the naked bone from across the two.

"He will need- ." Light stopped, completely unaware of the English term.

"Microsurgery," L muttered, dropping to the floor with a pained groan when Light wrapped his leg completely.

"Yes." The teen placed the tip of his finger between the inner layer of gauze and L's damaged flesh, wary of a reaction. Not tight enough. He partially unrolled it with a scowl, and L grunted in annoyance.

"You're good at that," Sean said with a puff of smoke. Light made no comment as he checked once more. Perfect. He leaned against the wall, declining a cigarette from Sean with a wave of his hand. Said motion allowed him a better view of the wrist that had throbbed after the crash.

What he saw did not make his heart stop, but it was not exactly what he would call comforting. Around his wrist, the handcuff had left what appeared to a rash. Upon further speculation, he realized it was a burn. And judging by the fact that he felt no pain when he prodded it with a nail, the tissue was dead. Third-degree.

L had it too, and was not particularly happy when Light checked. The cuffs jingled as Sean lifted them to an inspecting eye. "The hell are these for?"

Silence overtook the van as Light racked his brain for a logical answer- Hideki was an idiot and had tried them on in the plane; Uncle Takashi did not trust him a bit; it was a current fad-

"It's a fetish," L murmured from the ground with an unblinking eye.

Screeching halt, both figuratively and literally speaking. Light jumped as the brakes locked and Eddie rumbled with laughter as he beat against the dashboard. Sean was more refined, wiping away tears as he plucked the cigarette from his lips.

When he was sure no one saw, Light shot a poisonous glance at motionless and emotionless L. "_What?!_"

The bastard only smiled. "How is Ryo-kun so sure it is untrue?"

Light refused to make eye-contact with anyone for the remainder of the trip.

-

The teen had not realized that he had lost consciousness until he was awoken by a _lack _of noise. The barrel of the rifle was cool against the tip of his nose.

"Get out, cop." A puff of smoke. Light averted his eyes, sighting L at once on the floor of the vehicle, the detective's features furrowed in alarm. The barrel tapped his nose. "Get the fuck out." Light raised his hands stupidly, knee-crawling towards the edge of the van and hopping out into moonless night. One of the men- likely Sean, judging by the weight- shoved him to the ground, immediately pinning his wrists to the small of his back, straddling his waist.

"What about the other one?"

"He dun lurk too gurd." The rifle was now focused on L. "We kurn jus' leave 'im 'ere. Le' Mudder Naytcher take kur 'f 'im." Light heard the slightest intake of breath from L's direction.

Sean was silent for a moment. "No. Still a chance of escape, no matter how slim it is." Light cried out as an object struck his skull with blinding precision.

The barrel of the rifle met the flesh between Light's eyes before Sean's hands ran across every inch of his body. That revolting feeling of violation took over once more before Sean was done. "He's clear." Seconds passed in minutes. L screamed in agony as several sounds shook the van.

"Mm-hmm."

An object was shoved in Light's vision, the characters written upon his badge grinning like an old friend. "I can't make out any of that chink shit, but I know a badge when I see one. Are you after us, cop?" Light could think of nothing useful to say. Sean pulled him up easily, dragging his forehead on the rough floor of the van.

_Creeeeaaak…_ _WHAM!_

All intelligent thought was erased as the corner of the door collided with his head, spawning an agony unlike any other. "_Well?!_" Light could only wheeze for a moment before the door tore into his skull again- and again and again and _againandagainandagainanda_-!

"We had no business with you." L's voice was utterly tranquil, but his face said otherwise when Sean shifted Light's neck. "There is no Uncle Takashi. We came out here alone via a small plane to visit our friend, Nate. He is a hermit. He wishes for as few as possible to know of his location."

A horrible, _pathetic_ lie, and so far from the truth, but neither man said otherwise before Light was tossed headfirst into L's grasp, clinging to his lap like a damn child. Doors shrieked and a lock clanked. Both males were utterly still as the two doors behind them slammed, one after the other, the engine coughing and their surroundings rumbling to life.

_Just a meeting, they said, just a fucking meeting... Only five-hundred miles awaaaay! Ha huh ha huh ha, ha! Na nuh na nuh na, na!_

Light felt his eyes droop despite the throbbing in his skull. Blood obscured his vision as he felt L shift beneath him. He fought mildly as the detective lifted him gently and wrapped gauze in circles around his head, wary of wandering eyes even in this state.

_Kira, Kiraaa! La la la! Killer, Killer! La la la! Ryumaki- oopsie!- ELLLLLL fighting! La la la!_

_Big brother, I'm scared. Don'tworrySayuI'llkeepyousafe._

_Damn you, Kira. Damn you to H…! _


	2. Ebb and Flow

**Alright, first off, I would like to publicly, (if you can call it that..), thank users _Sonoko _and _LaundryGirl_ for leaving reviews since I could not send them a reply normally. (Seriously though, I _feed _off of reviews.)**

**Second, I feel the need to apologize for updating in 2010 when I clearly stated to reviewers that I would update "within a few days" during March of last year. While the reason is stated on my profile, I will repeat it here. Seeing as I'm a major idiot and ruined my computer sometime in April, I have only very recently gained access to a word processor and decided to back things up on a flash drive. This means _everything _is gone; my chapters, my half-baked novels, my pictures, my schoolwork, and, most importantly, my notes for my stories. While it is semi-likely that I will retrieve my original hard drive sometime in the next couple of months, I had to start completely from scratch and rely on my hole-clotted memory and non-decipherable hand-written notes while I waited for computer access. **

**Third, and as a result of this, the introduction to this following chapter is very different from what I originally wrote. My writing style seems to have evolved slightly since I last touched upon this story. (User oro-girlXD will be the only being in existence to know this besides myself, so other readers really did not have to read the prior sentences...)**

**Fourth, and finally, this chapter will contain references to Beyond Birthday, a character only present in the Death Note spin-off novel Another Note. While it is not necessarily required to completely understand the story, a chunk of this chapter will make little sense without knowledge of the book. It is likely that he will reappear in the story, obviously not in person. Translation: Get out there and read that book. It's amazing, despite depicting mental illnesses rather unrealistically. **

_

* * *

_

_My blood is your blood._

_Hello, my copy._

_Not long for yooooooo-_

Only these sounds, deep within the fog.

-

Nonetheless, these sounds ebb and flow, much like the pain. He has forgotten who he is, where he rests, with his head on its side, his ear crushed, his spine bent more than usual, his right cheek numb within a moist puddle of drool. Only his unconscious wishes for death keep him company deep within the miasma.

The pain is constant, if not muted within his state of altered consciousness. The thrumming is centered and everywhere all at once. The pulse is south of his lips and north of his knees. And the fog makes itself known once more.

From within the empty spaces of this cycle, L remembers.

-

Cornwall is always cold at this time of the year, and Eraldo Coil must hide beneath his mask within the midst of the other children. His usual attire does little to shield him from the temperature, and he suppresses a shiver as he listens to the buzz of human speech within the crowd.

His tea is long cold. Breaking away from his ranting, M1 brings up another saucer, his blue eyes patient for once as they make eye contact. Coil nods, expressionless as he takes the saucer and allows it to warm his tingling fingers and burn his lips. M1 grins, his eyes alight and looking as if some unnamed drug is chewing away at his system. With his pearly canines working away at a candy bar, the boy punts a worn soccer ball at M2's head, laughing and taunting frantically in Russian. He explodes forward, a flash of jet black and blond hair, cackling as he brushes against N's house of cards and causes it to collapse in a flurry of yellow and red.

Time slows for a moment.

The pain returns as the sun beats down, the laughter of the other children mingling nightmarishly with the dull roar of the nearby automobiles.

-

L stirs, his eyelids audibly clenching. He turns his head to crush his other ear. The pain explodes, burns, dulls.

The tide flows back.

-

Coil stares down at a yellowed card, brushing against his beaten gray sneaker. He takes it all in, the minute creases in the corner of the old plastic, interlocking W's highlighted in grime, the Queen's unsmiling face. The wind locks the rectangular object within his frayed laces.

Coil stoops forward, pale fingers gripping for the plastic, makes purchase. He waits a moment, calculating silently as he ponders over the wind. A shake of the head. Coil makes fresh creases within the card as the nails on his right thumb and pointer finger leave their signature in the plastic, and he rises from his stoop on the metal bench. His hind end is sore, anyway.

N makes no sound, appears to be unable to breathe, almost dead, and this front is betrayed as he lifts a hand to twirl a lock of pigment-less hair. He is focused entirely on the havoc wreaked by M1, his eyes half-lidded and zombie-like, and he breathes motionlessly as the wind tousles his hair. Coil drops the card in the yellow grass, knowing full well that the younger boy will not take it from his hand.

A lengthy pause. Coil stares. N studies the foreign object, stares lifelessly for far longer than necessary. Releasing his captive lock of hair, the boy, barely able to walk at five years of age, mutters a series of numbers to himself in Afrikaans. He lifts two cards with a stiff motion and constructs a plastic prison around a solitary blade of grass. N's bare toes clench as Coil turns. The child misses the heat of his homeland.

Coil blinks, staring down with mild shock as his foot stops mid-step, floating in the air as a high-pitched whine harasses his skull and his vision blurs. The laughter intensifies.

-

L tenses for several minutes. His left hand rises to scratch at fingers that are not there. The itch and whine is maddening. Miasma flows into his nostrils.

-

Just like that, Coil's foot continues downward, as if nothing abnormal ever occurred. Another step, a dodge as M2 counterattacks with several French curses and runs in front of him with a chocolate bar clenched in his left hand. Coil stops just in time as M1 tackles M2 to the ground, screaming in a maelstrom of foreign languages as he pulls at fistfuls of auburn hair. The candy is released. The three males continue on their way. Coil dodges several more children as he returns to his seat at the picnic table.

B's eyes never left him once. "The queen is mine."

Coil grunts, now losing interest in the game as he stares out at the city streets. His culprit is here; he can sense it. Somewhere in this mixture of English, the man in no doubt committing his crime as he pollutes the streets with his mother tongue. Coil gnaws at his thumb, eyes darting rapidly over the crowd.

B automatically senses the older male's disinterest. With one fluid motion he returns the pieces to their box, and stares out at the masses once his task is completed. They are the only ones seated at the table within the public park.

B locks on to an indiscernible shape within the crowd and cackles to himself, muttering something in Thai. Coil makes note of it, but does not turn. His successors must witness this behavior in order to strengthen their deductive abilities. These four children, accounting as three letters of the alphabet, do not know the names of any of their peers. They have it easy. Coil must learn all he can about them, must remember their true names; they only need to study one person.

All orphans, all only children, all foreign-born, all ignorant of one another's history. Coil turns from the crowds and focuses all of his attention on the children. Each child freezes in place, clad in fuzzed outlines. The screeching is unbearable.

-

_Whoosh! _His hands rise to claw at his scalp and immediately smash into a hard surface. L relaxes.

-

Coil turns, calculations murmuring sweetly in his brain. His oldest successor continues to stare out at the masses.

B is focusing entirely on a man conversing on a cell phone several yards from the park bench. He does not fit Coil's prey at all. Coil turns away, staring at a tree absentmindedly as he continues to chew on his thumb.

Time passes fluidly. Whether it be seconds, minutes, or hours, Coil is not certain. He is within his own world, conversing with himself as he ponders the case. When he turns around, B is gone.

Coil blinks.

No, not gone. Merely standing a few feet away, still focused on that one man, who is now leaving a beaten-down coffee shop, biting into the remnants of a bagel and stepping onto the pavement. B is raised on the tips of his toes, following the man with slight turns of the head, his eyes flitting about beneath his bangs. When the man stops, B freezes, a statue whose sole purpose is to stalk this creature. The teenager chatters to himself for a moment, his old tee shirt ruffling in the wind.

This cycle repeats for a few minutes. The moment the unnamed man reaches the crosswalk, B ceases his movements completely.

A shriek, shrill and piercing.

Coil grinds on the balls of his feet, nearly twisting an ankle in the process of sating his curiosity. Calculations spew out in an instant.

_Primary target: female, roughly 17-20 years of age. All blonde, all short-haired, all- _

B swivels him back roughly, the veins standing out on his pale wrist. His breathing is rapid, raspy; his eyes twitching beneath his eyelids; his teeth are bared. He is desperate, scared, yearning for approval. Two words are spat out with amazing force: _Doo si!_

_Look at this._

Coil and B turn their heads simultaneously, the former with ease, the latter almost turning his neck 180 degrees. A streak of white; rubber shrieking against pavement. The tell-tale crunch and tinkle of broken glass.

A final mouthful of bagel is left forever crushed in the man's right hand, and he twitches like a stuck pig. His head has broken open, red liquid seeping out and staining the pavement, and whatever final thought the man possessed loses its tether and floats into the sky. His wife-beater tears the moment it hits the asphalt, and a Queen tee shirt rises up with his great belly in a flash of stark white and faded colors. His body is dragged several feet before coming to rest against an eroded curb.

The bystander effect keeps a chokehold on the crowd. A gentleman in a starched suit and a woman who looks like she has not bathed in several weeks leap out from opposite sides of the street, pulling the driver and two passengers from the wreckage with amazing agility. Coil has already turned away before even realizing it, his white thermal twisting in B's grip.

A soccer ball rolls forward to brush his foot.

M1's eyes are wide and bulging, and he can only croak, his hands now nothing more than pale claws frozen in the air as he stands ramrod straight in the grass.

M2 cowers behind M1, muttering to himself and twiddling his thumbs rapidly.

N's eyes are wide and mirror-like, and a hand is frozen within his hair, his legs dusted with flecks of yellow and red. His mouth opens slightly, and even over the chaos, Eraldo can hear it snap shut almost immediately.

_Doo si._

_Doo si._

_Doo si._

-

L crawled back into complete consciousness when Coil lost his balance and smashed his face against the ground, B accidently ripping the cuff of his shirt when he failed to release him in his daze. What he thought to be the grass was some sort of wooden surface, unforgiving as it scratched at his skin.

The pain and fear forced his eyelids open. For a moment he thought himself to be blind, but the settling light quelled this worry as colors and shapes formed. L slowly lifted his head, both for caution's sake and the stiffness in his neck, which relieved itself with an audible crack almost immediately.

His spine now rising to create a near-60 degree angle with his pelvis, agony exploded from his disturbed right leg, shooting up his spine instantaneously and slamming his face downward. He almost blacked out right there, and it took every present iota of willpower to keep himself from screaming like a bitch.

L then decided that moving was not a present priority.

Several minutes later, when he finally convinced himself that lifting a hand to scratch at his fingers would not kill him, L found the chains. With his right wrist in its current state and the agonizing itch that now seated itself comfortably upon the stubs that inhabited his right hand, L held multiple reasons to not notice it before. Opting to move as little as possible for the time being, he fastened his eyelids and formed a map of chains in his brain.

His hands were bound; L knew that much, and when he attempted to lift one hand from his lap he ended up lifting both. A moment after furrowing his brow he discovered his bare feet to be in the same state, floating off of the ground no matter how hard he attempted to stretch.

With a deep breath L rose, wary of his many injuries, and mentally jotted down all he saw.

The sun was bright and he appeared to be sitting in some sort of kitchen, the furniture likely fashioned from knotted pine and cheap tile. To L's surprise he came to face a simple glass sliding door, devoid of any additional lock besides the very basic square slot with no other mode of obstruction. Outside it was little more than moisture-less brown soil, dotted with the odd scrub, and judging by the position of the sun it was around midday.

His surroundings, at both the first and eventual final observant glance, could only be described as unremarkable. The sun stained everything in some way, whether it brightened the light to the point of appearing artificial or deepened the shadows. For a long while L only focused on the parallel door. Placing him before this signified that his attackers were either very confident or very stupid. True, this was Death Valley- the calculations told him so, informing him that he was not moved far from the crash site- but it was far from devoid of human life. The occasional ignoramus- or anonymous criminal, in this case- would choose to dwell within such extreme conditions. For God's sake, he could even see a road- an unpaved road, mind you, but still a road!

L later discovered that he was unable to turn completely, forming a blind spot that ranged about 100 degrees beyond the tips of his shoulders. To his unimaginable horror he found that the denims he currently wore were different from the ones he was sporting when he passed out the previous night. While the lack of a collection of rotted threads was a welcome change, these jeans actually fit, leaving L in a self-induced fit of near-claustrophobia.

Grunting and heaving, L disregarded all forms of existing agony when he discovered his shirt to be unfamiliar, and, after a rather impressive jolt requiring much flexibility, he found his own underwear to be in the same state.

Eventually disregarding his present state, L began to focus on pressure points as he dully noted that his immaturity was ruining his chances. L assumed that they wanted him alive- they could have killed him easily as he floated in the miasma, and the chains obviously signified that they wanted him _here_.

L finally paused, not due to a lack of energy but to the pain finally clearing his head. This was madness; he was only wasting precious energy. While proud of himself for at least searching for weak points in the bounds in his panicked state, his actions could only have negative consequences. Whether he liked it or not, these chains were keeping him from moving anytime soon, and even if by the slightest miracle he was able to free himself, his inability to walk on his own would keep him busy enough to be caught.

L rested as comfortably as he could against the rough tabletop, focusing on all things logical to keep away from the unimaginable pain. He then slowly opened his eyes, keeping them half-lidded and dull, a slight frown painting his face as the gears turned in his head.

For the first time, L realized that Kira was no longer connected to his wrist.

-

After a while, Light realized that he was now alone. Not that he was afraid of these men, oh no, not now. He'd been awake for a while, and a moment ago they were just in his way.

Light clicked his tongue, leaning forward as best he could to listen intently.

_Click._

_Click click._

_Clickickickick-_

There. An echo. Light turned to his left and repeated the process.

Nothing.

Light whistled shrilly. Once. Twice. Found the wall.

The teenager swiveled his neck to the right, and met his own whistle almost immediately. Judging by the intensity of the waves, the wall on the right was close enough for him to reach out and touch.

With his hands bound securely against what he assumed to be the wall behind him, sock-clad feet crossed on the ground before his pelvis, Light was blinded by the only thing that kept him from bleeding half to death. Individual pieces of cartilage in his nose were held in close proximity only by the skin there, and when he forced his mouth open to get a dank breath he tasted blood on his tongue. Gauze fastened his hair to his skin, and sweat managed to keep the bandages moist when the blood finally ceased flowing.

Judging by the overhead footsteps, he was either in a building with multiple stories or some sort of cellar or basement. Light was willing to bet on one of the latter two when his feet shifted and resisted mildly against grit.

The room was likely rectangular in shape, unless the sound waves he created were bouncing off of random objects seated in his inhabitance, and, based on his experiment, he shakily decided that he was placed near a corner, his back against a long wall with a short wall on his left and right. Light tossed his head backwards to lean against the wall.

He tested his limbs cautiously. Good. Nothing seemed to be broken but his nose. Now that he held a basic understanding of his surroundings and his current condition, Light focused acutely on overhead sounds.

Not too long after that, the music started.

-

L fell into the pattern of the household over the course of the next few days.

This was apparently Sean's house, Eddie living in some town he never bothered to name some miles away. L would go days without sleeping, out of habit rather than circumstance, and took the opportunity to study his surroundings as thoroughly as possible. The conveniently placed door before him told him that he was on the first story, and when Sean would retire upstairs on cooler nights to an unseen bedroom and bathroom, L attempted to map out the house by the noises he heard. On hotter nights, when L would drip with sweat and stick uncomfortably to his chair, Sean would sleep in the door-less room directly behind his prisoner, and his lack of visibility kept L especially cautious.

The older man would wake up around eight, judging by the chiming of a clock somewhere above L, scratching and yawning as he stumbled off to a bathroom, announcing his presence with a flushing toilet and creaking water pipes. When he was finished, he would empty L's bedpan if needed before getting started on breakfast. While it bubbled on the stove, he would boil a bandage and swap it with the old one while L focused on anything else, fear overcoming curiosity when he considered looking at his leg. Sean would then feed him with a fork, often making small talk, then leave L to his own thoughts until it was time for dinner. The cycle would then repeat.

One morning some time in the second week of L's imprisonment, Sean announced that he could no longer stand the smell. Despite his slender build, Sean was strong, lifting L up by his armpits and carting him off to a small bathroom on the first floor. For a while the older male hosed off his nude form with a removable showerhead and a disgusted sneer, L bowing his head and clamping his eyelids shut as water glued his mangy hair to his skin, biting his lip when the water would run over his leg. In this small amount of time, he found that the gaping hole in his leg had been sewn up with thick black thread, the old bandages giving way beneath the water after some time. After a few minutes, Sean placed the showerhead in L's bound hands with a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo in reach. Without the chair to hold him down, his range of movement increased a bit. Learning to bathe like this, bound and only able to use his left hand, it was… interesting, to say the least.

Sean would never let him out of his sight in these instances, not that L cared. A body was a body, and whoever happened to see his didn't really matter. If not for Watari, he would go around naked for the day when the temperature wasn't an issue. He'd even solved a case in the buff, back in 2001, much to Watari's horror. For a bizarre instant he realized that this was what Kira would experience when he needed his daily shower, 'needed' being an exaggeration when considering the numerous arguments between the two detectives over whether or not a weekly shower was perfectly acceptable. L would then be dried off and dressed in one of six possible outfits, then carried off and fastened to his chair while Sean prepared a rather revolting omelet for their breakfast.

This became a tri-weekly event, taking place on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and L kept track of time with this. On days that Eddie was present, Sean would grab L's upper half while Eddie kept a hold on his legs, carting him around like a mattress. L put up with it only for the priceless opportunity to examine a bit of his surroundings. A well furnished living room apparently rested behind L's position in the kitchen, the leather couch on which Sean occasionally slept parallel to a staircase leading upward.

Not a day passed without L wondering if Light Yagami was still alive. More often so he wondered why _he_ was still alive. These thoughts crowded his head as he occupied himself within the silence, whether it be counting the points on the plaster ceiling or wondering how on earth a piece of three-day-old omelet lodged in his teeth could taste like _that_.

The first question was answered within 24 hours of its last occurrence, when L awoke after a two-hour nap to the screeching of the glass door before him and the sun in his eyes.

-

Light looked very dead, and, if not for his regular breathing, L would have thought he was so when Eddie carried him in, tossed over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and looking very small. Easily dwarfing him, Eddie set him down on the floor, his bound hands behind his back and against a cabinet door, his wild hair brushing against the microwave above him.

"Nuh funna sturf." Eddie walked back outside and slid the door back in place, his towering form leaving heavy footsteps in his wake even as he walked across the sun-baked soil.

For once, Light was wearing jeans, a red Muppet tee shirt swallowing his upper half and running to his knees. In any other situation, this would have been hilarious. When L saw the bandages running across Light's eyes and around his skull, his blood ran cold.

"… Raito-kun?" It was all he could think to say. The teen stirred, ever-so-slightly, a strange noise escaping his throat. The stubble on his chin only intensified the milk-like hue of his skin as his lips separated and his head cocked to the side. Even with the bandages covering the upper half of Light's face, L could see his eyes swiveling about in their sockets and his brows contorting, his brain working feverishly as he processed the word.

For a while, this seemed like all he could do. Then, the corners of his mouth rising jaggedly in a smile, he spoke, the Japanese expressing more burning hatred than L thought the boy could muster:

"These sons of bitches are going to _pay_."

L could only focus on the emotion in that statement and the downright evil smile on Light's face. He hardly registered when Eddie came back in with Sean, conversing roughly and plucking Light up, carrying his boneless form off in the direction of the living room. L did not even move when the water pipes emitted a rushing sound across the house and the walls creaked. His eyes stayed wide and unblinking before his brow furrowed. He would gnaw at his thumb if he was able. And, before he even realized what he was doing, L released a smile just as disconcerting.

Yes, he had to agree with Light on that one.


	3. Patterns

"… Did you ever watch me play _Silent Hill_?"

"Only the thirty times you pissed yourself beating those nurses to death with a hammer."

"Yeah, well, anyway, you saw the way Alessa looked, right, the girl who burned in her house? I mean, when she wasn't dragging Harry around?" Mello gnawed at his lip, recalling that wretched figure in the introductory movie of the game as he stared out blankly at the passing cars. She looked like she may have been pretty, if not for the fact that it looked like someone glued beef jerky to the right half of her body.

"Yeah. That weird-ass smiling bitch on the bed?"

"Mello…" Both boys jumped at the sound of Roger's voice, a pair of warning eyes staring directly at the blonde in the rearview mirror.

"… Uh, yeah, er, I mean-." Matt clawed at his hair before posing his arms in an attempt to relay his loss for words. "… I mean, no, like… Remember when she was sitting in that wheelchair near the end. Her other body?" Oh, yeah. Mello shifted in his seat, his seatbelt creaking as he turned away from the car window to face the other.

Of course he remembered. Both Mello and Matt had cocked their heads and squinted simultaneously at the sight before Mello broke out in a rant. _Wait a second, wait a second! Why does she look like a mummy when I _just _saw her with half of her body perfectly normal? Did that crazy old bitch decide to put her other half over a fire? _Matt then released the universal grunting sound for _I don't know_ with a shrug of his shoulders before both boys screamed bloody murder at the sight of "God" ripping out of Alessa's body, Matt wide-eyed and slack-jawed and Mello shakily peering out from between his fingers beyond the protective barrier that was Matt's shoulder.

"Yeah." The image of "God" tearing itself out of its mother's still-breathing body had forever burned itself into his mind. For some reason the awful graphics had made the scene seem even more terrifying, the creature's gangly body rough and edged with polygonal blood spurting from Alessa's back.

Matt hushed himself as he leaned forward with a harsh creak of his seatbelt, his hands animated as he tucked his left leg beneath his body. "Well, uh, he looked kind of like that, right? I mean, it's not just me, right?" Mello's eyes widened, and he suddenly felt very cold.

"… Uh, yeah." Mello unconsciously raised his hands to rub at his arms, for once at a loss for words as he stared at the shaking floor.

-

The rest of the ride to the hotel was uneventful. Roger was stunned by Mello's silence, but knew better than to question such a thing. Matt continued to stare out at the road from behind his swimming goggles, fully entranced by this foreign country as he attempted to avoid his thoughts.

The horrifying thing was that Matt was right. B had looked so…

Mello slammed his eyes shut before he allowed himself to choke down some air.

He couldn't really label it a funeral. A priest shambled in, recited a few prayers and psalms, then shuffled back out. Mello considered this to be inadequate and recited several prayers himself, his hands running over the rosary beads in his pocket while Matt slumped next to him, feeling very out of place in this cold, industrial room with no goggles and waiting impatiently for Roger to call them back out.

Mello had only wanted to see, just one little peek. He had forced himself forward and meticulously lifted the corner of the sheet. A lifeless eye stared up at him, tinged with red and surrounded by puffy, cooked skin. The boy saw flesh, black and peeling, a severely charred shoulder bared to the world as it rested against biting metal, a head entirely devoid of hair and a face only vaguely humanoid in shape. That one eye, stark red against an expanse of shapeless black. Staring up to meet his gaze.

B had looked so… crispy.

-

Mello leapt out of the car before Roger even had a chance to slow the vehicle. He ignored the man's outburst, taking the stairs two at a time as he raced through the lobby and into the uninhabited elevator. Matt managed to shove his way through the doors the moment before they closed completely, breathing heavily as he came to Mello's side.

"Wha-What are you-?"

"Shut it!" Mello clenched his hands, rolling the key in his pocket from side to side. After several seconds the elevator managed to crawl to the desired floor, its bell ringing merrily as Mello shot between the doors. Matt managed to blink expressionlessly before slinking out after him.

The wooden door exploded inward as Mello threw the key onto a side table, not bothering to close the door after him as he made his way to his sleeping area. He slid across the maroon carpet that coated the floor, reaching under the extravagant bed and pulling out a rectangular black travel bag. The boy threw it onto the mattress, and it hardly had time to bounce before he was emptying its contents onto the quilts, painting the room with a chaotic mess of paper and clothing. Mello reached for a thick leather-bound book after it fell to the floor. He tore it open, frantically making his way towards the desk to his right and flipping through the pages, muttering to himself and ignoring the mess as his bare feet slid over it.

Matt slowly came into the doorway, blinking heavily beneath his goggles. He moved about for a bit before coming to rest against the doorframe, his arms crossed as he watched Mello pore over the pages with manic laughter, individual pieces of paper still floating downward to lie on the carpet. The younger boy shook his head. Mello was now dead to the world.

-

Roger lightly shoved the door inward a few minutes later, pausing on the threshold to stare at Matt as he mashed the buttons of his Gameboy from his seat at the large dining table. The boy failed to look up as Roger quietly pushed the door closed and hushed his mild taunting when Roger stepped forward, the blue light reflecting off of his goggles as his elbows rested on the shining wooden surface before him.

"Take those off. You'll go blind." Without taking his eyes off of the screen, Matt pulled the goggles from his head, the rubber snapping loudly as it attempted to cling to him and leaving his hair in a chaotic mess. His gangly limbs tensed as he stooped towards the screen, narrowing his eyes as he rested his chin against the table.

Ah. Another Pokemon.

At that moment Mello exploded from the bedroom door to Roger's right, vaulting over the back of the leather couch just as the man turned his head, rosary beads swinging in the air as the boy grabbed a bulging plastic bag from the coffee table before the TV. Once he leaped back over, a single chocolate bar fell from the bag and clattered against the wooden floor of the connected dining room. Mello stooped forward to grasp it before racing off to the door he originally appeared from, slamming the door behind him.

Fantastic. Roger sighed wearily before kneading the bridge of his nose, solemnly making his way towards the kitchen for a hot cup of earl grey.

-

Mello tore into the first chocolate bar before the plastic bag even had a chance to hit the ground. He looked over his notes, written in frazzled Russian and smudged by the sides of his hands. He added another fragment to the bottom of the page, the boy brushing shards of chocolate from the pages as he nibbled at the sweet. _January 21, 2004- heart attack. Kira?_

Mello paused for a moment, staring at the wall and tearing a chunk off of the bar as he considered adding more. With a rough inhalation he shot forward, his hair curtaining his face as he switched the pen to his left hand and stretched his right, holding the chocolate between his teeth as his shadow danced on the scarlet wall before him. _February 16- post-mortem visit in Sacramento morgue. Skin charred due to suicide attempt. Buried in local cemetery following evening._

Mello wrote into the night, failing to cease his scribbling both times Roger opened his door to check up on him. When he finally dropped his pen and turned to meet the face of the digital clock on his bedside table, it read 2:32. The boy rubbed at his eyes before rising from his chair and skulking to the kitchen, his shadow exaggerated and grotesque as it stretched across the walls. Mello padded to the medium-sized refrigerator, his bare feet squeaking on the white tile as he pulled a handful of ice from the freezer and tossed it into a plastic bowl. He walked backwards a few feet before he pulled a chair from beneath the table and straddled its back, wincing as it screeched horrendously against the floor. Mello buried his hands in the ice without a moment's hesitation and released a relieved sigh. He only removed them once they were entirely numb, and he stared down at the growths bulging between his fingers, which were shiny and pink and half callous, half blister. The swelling had receded; a good sign.

When Mello was finally satisfied with his momentary first aid, he rose from the table without pushing the chair back into its proper place, leaving the bowl of ice as he crept before the entertainment center. Leaning forward to grab Roger's laptop from the table, he struggled a moment with his hair before returning to the table and easing the object onto the laminated surface. Pulling the two halves open, Mello ran his fingers over the keys in an attempt to log on as he was blinded by the only source of light in the room. Within minutes, he was throwing a silent fit and stalking off to Matt's room.

Shoving the door open as quietly as his temper would allow, Mello was shaking Matt awake in seconds. "Matt! Get up!"

Aforementioned boy began to sluggishly turn over from his rather comfortable sprawl across the quilts in a moment, kicking off a pillow in the process. "Muh?"

"I need your help," Mello whispered urgently in French, which instantly sharpened Matt's hearing, as predicted. "I need to see an email and this firewall's been plaguing me!"

"… Then use that password I told you about," the boy slurred before attempting to roll back over with a grunt. Mello intercepted him before he could even reach his side.

"The geezer changed it! It's important!"

Within seconds Matt was ripped from his bed, half led, half dragged to a seat at the kitchen table, his eyes failing to open and his legs only completing the minimal amount of movement as he was exposed to the cold in only his nightclothes. Shivering, he tapped at the keys with a heavily slumped posture, only opening his eyes a couple of times as Mello peered expectantly from over his shoulders with wide eyes. "… There." Mello pulled the laptop away before Matt's head thudded against the stretch of table beneath him, entirely asleep within an instant.

Mello scanned the page for several moments before choosing the desired link to the Wammy message center. He typed in his own password only to receive a message in English block letters: **EXPERIENCING TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES**. Frowning, he tried again, only to meet the same page. The boy accessed the Start menu and browsed over the connections, discovering them to be near-perfect. Mello maneuvered the mouse to the **BACK **button and typed in Matt's password, just for the hell of it.

**EXPERIENCING TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES.**

Mello growled, returning to the main page. Before he had a chance to continue the screen went haywire, flashing for a moment before exiting out of the database entirely. Mello cursed, burying his head in his palms and suddenly very fatigued. Matt snored quietly beside him, as if to mock him. Running his fingers through his hair, the blonde readjusted the screen as he scooted the chair forward.

In the lower right-hand corner of the screen, an icon appeared, informing the user that a new message was present. Mello clicked on that, now in the computer's basic inbox.

… It wasn't nearly as secure as he preferred, but he could use it if he worded the message innocently enough. L could send his response to a safer area later. Seeing as the Wammy database would not currently accept him, he would not be able to see the original message containing the basics behind the BB murder cases. If Mello were to ever fall asleep tonight, he would have to at least ask L to resend it in order for him to complete his current project, seeing as the detective was now somewhere in South America and thus unable to speak to him in person.

Mello scanned down the rather long list of unread messages, looking for a message that Roger had already clicked on. The computer would keep track of a new message in the **Send **box, but, as long as L replied to a differing database, as Mello knew he would, a reply would not be recorded on this old thing. Roger may have been old, but his mind was still sharp, and his powerful observant skills were enough to notice a difference.

The latest disturbed message was from yesterday, labeled **Course Schedule: 2004-2005**. Mello navigated to that, discovering it to be fairly long and thus needing some time to load. The boy rested his chin on his palm and tapped lightly against the table. His thoughts turned to the book beside his notes, which was currently sprawled across the desk in his room.

Mello had opened the book mere moments after writing down B's place of burial, an action which had conjured up unexpected emotions and traces of a memory that didn't seem to exist. It was an encyclopedia, which was now open to an article concerning the Chernobyl incident of 1986.

The fact that B had been buried in a place not only hundreds of miles away from his hometown of Pattaya, Thailand, but on the opposite side of the globe itself, seemed remarkably unfair to Mello. While obviously having yet to experience such a thing personally, he knew that both of his parents had. Not that it drew much pity from the depths below; he was far from close to his father, and devoid of a single memory of his mother since she almost dragged him down to Hell alongside her in childbirth. They were both uprooted from their home a few weeks after the nuclear meltdown and forced to flee to Lithuania, their only child born not long after they initially settled. For reasons manifest, Mello's mother was buried there, his father following her eight years later after hanging himself in his home. Mello could still remember walking home to police sirens, bright yellow tape spread across the entrance of the building…

The computer screen abruptly drew the boy from his thoughts, now loaded entirely and painted with simple English text. Running the arrow icon to the reply button, the topmost line caught his attention before he had the chance to press down on the mouse.

**16-02-04**

**Ryuzaki's current whereabouts yet to be determined.**

… What? L was supposed to be in Brazil, in Rio de Janeiro. Roger had said so earlier today. Mello double-checked the date. The message was from February the 16th- yesterday. Surely it was another Ryuzaki…? Mello scrolled down to the original message.

**30-1-04**

**The plane to Portland has fallen off the radar. The final transmission from the pilot was sent at 10:03 am, in southwest Nevada. No word from any of the three.** **The task force has been informed.**

**-W**

Mello scrolled upwards, taking in each message with widening eyes and an increasing heart rate, watching as the sentences grew choppier and more desperate.

**02-02-04**

**UPDATE: The chip has found Ryuzaki's vitals. No word from Asahi or Graham.**

**-W**

**-**

**03-02-04**

**I apologize for taking longer than usual to respond. I advise to use N for the time being, seeing as M1's current location in comparison to the final transmission site would make it unwise to reveal such a fact to him. **

**B has been buried in Sacramento. Judging by the words of the coroner, he was likely a victim of the recent barrage of attacks.**

**-R**

**-**

**05-02-04**

**There is still no word from any of the three. However, Ryuzaki's vitals are still in motion. They have livened within the past 24 hours. **

**-W**

Mello continued to scroll up, several messages differing in basic information with the February the 5th entry only by date. Finally, he came to one dissimilar in its core.

**14-02-04**

**Graham confirmed and collision site found. DNA evidence available. Zero trace of Ryuzaki or Asahi in radius.**

**-W**

Mello slowly and silently logged off, snapping the computer shut with a boneless hand.

-

When Roger awoke at a quarter to eight that morning, he discovered Mello on the couch, the TV blaring before him as he stared forward with eyes entirely unfocussed. He only responded when the older man lifted the remote and lowered the volume, the boy jolting in his place before meeting his gaze, his hair frazzled and his black outfit the same as yesterday's.

-

Four hours after his breakfast that day- a wretched congregation of poached eggs and a slice of dry wheat toast- L would have willingly torn a man's throat out for some morphine. Despite it not being a shower day- and thus an inactive one- the larger-than-usual meal had to have done something for his healing body, as he felt as if some unseen entity was pressing microscopic shards of glass into the raw flesh of his thigh. L screamed for the better part of an hour, his body deciding to mix it up a bit with the occasional shameful sob and hiccup. Sean crawled in through the glass door with a wince near the end of his latest sob fest.

"Christ, kid." He then proceeded to shove a dishrag into L's mouth, and, clean or otherwise, the taste of liquid cleaner nearly caused the detective to vomit on several occasions.

Around dinnertime, Sean reappeared behind him, with his presence materializing some horrible squeaking noise caused by an object outside of L's line of vision. The detective failed to move as the older man removed the chains from the legs of the table and chair. "Got a present in town today for ya, kid." L remained silent, struggling to appear as apathetic as possible as he was lifted effortlessly from his seat. Sean placed him in a waiting wheelchair a few feet behind him, reconnecting the chains to the chair before moving forward to open the sliding door. With a grunt, Sean then wheeled L forward, cautious as he lifted the chair off the step from the dirt to the kitchen floor.

As he was pushed effortlessly into the dark, away from the coolness of the tile and the house, that single screeching wheel grating on his ears and echoing in his mind, L could only think of a particular scene from a book he once enjoyed as a child: little Alice tossed into the rabbit hole without a second thought, her actions witnessed by no one as she continued to hurtle into the unknown for some indiscernible amount of time. The pain took a back seat to fear as he eyed a decrepit shed in the distance, directly before he and Sean as they traversed across the desert and beneath the eyeless stars.

* * *

**Thanks to anonymous reviewer **_**irotelveonurarms**_** for leaving their thoughts. And a special shout out to user **_**4udball**_**, for reviewing every chapter so far. (Am I able to do that considering the fact that this is only the third chapter?)**

**Reviews brighten my day tremendously! I would love to know what you think. :)**


	4. Descent

When left face-face and alone for the first time in days, L and Light had nothing to say to one another. L dimly conjured up the sounds of crickets when the haze dulled, occasionally lifting his head to engage in a staring contest with the boy with no eyes. The older male trembled in his place, cracking throat failing to issue a sound as his shaking leg squeaked against the thin strip of leather that separated his body from the concrete below. The air above the stubs of his fingers itched terribly, but they were, at the very least, no longer shrieking in ripe agony.

"What does it look like?" L started at the sudden rasp in the air before quickly regaining what little composure he originally possessed. Light peered back expectantly from behind his stained bandages.

"We're underground."

"I got that much when they decided to toss me in here."

"Would Yagami-kun kindly shut his potato trap before I choose to do so for him?"

"I'm all ears, you bastard." L paused to rub at his eyes, nails clawing into the bridge of his nose.

"Would the child like details, then?"

"That would be nice."

"There are none." Never had there existed a truer statement. They were in a box, pure and simple. A concrete box, a concrete box underground, yes, but a box nonetheless; a tiny unpainted rectangle with one door and a small alcove that partially concealed a surprisingly well-kept toilet and sink. A naked bulb floated over the two and cast a harsh light on their features, making Light appear more pathetic, more wrathful. From all that L had seen in the past hour, he concluded that this had to be a rather oddly-placed basement beneath a shed several yards from the house.

"Ryuzaki…" L solemnly lifted his head to meet Light's invisible gaze, laser-like in its precision despite being hindered by its nonexistence.

"Yes?" _Don't let him know that you're shaking_.

"What was that squeaking?"

"My wheelchair." Curt and cool, despite the burning.

There was a long pause, beginning with the slightest intake of breath from the youngest of the party. "… Is it really that bad?" Kira sounded largely apathetic on his part.

"I thought that it was common knowledge that a seven-inch shard of fiberglass could tear a muscle, Raito-kun." L drummed his good hand against the padded arm of the chair as he crossed his eyes, Light never shifting position once. "And you, can you stand? Can you see?" Light relaxed against the smooth wall behind him.

"In order, yes, but only for short amounts of time, and I'm not sure; I haven't had the chance to see if my eyes are damaged." He lifted his shackled hands slightly to state the obvious before pausing momentarily with what L assumed to be a thoughtful expression. "No pun intended." The teen started ever-so-slightly when there was a horrible squeak, a source of heat steadily making its way towards him.

L, minding his stiff back, stooped forward as best he could and brushed a cold finger against Light's veiled temple, testing its texture with a curious eye. "Would you like me to remove them?" The seventh circle of Hell would cool before L allowed his only possible ally to be crippled in this situation. In this world, beneath the baking earth and away from the public eye, L and Kira ceased to exist.

And the husks that remained once the titles had died were remarkably selfish sons of bitches that would crush just about anyone in order to return to the working world alive.

"Yes." There was zero hesitation in Light's abrupt statement. L wordlessly tucked a thumb behind the shell of Light's right ear, steadily peeling back the outermost layer of weathered gauze. Slowly but surely, the fabric grew in measurable length as it circled the boy's head and rustled against his unkempt hair, occasionally taunting L when it would stick to a scab before the dried blood was finally separated from the skin. A slow trickle of blood marked its procession across the roundness of Light's darkened eyelid with a stream of scarlet, contrasting heavily against the paling skin revealed. L focused on that until it finally came to rest upon the bulge of his lower lip, his hand functioning on autopilot as Light licked it away absentmindedly. The strip of bandage was now pooling around Light's body, resting against contours and bleaching the floor. What remained fastened to his skull was now only covering the delicate concave between his brow and lid and the majority of his forehead, a parody of an angelic halo that stood out against his darkened hair, the harsh light making his milky skin appear even whiter. And still his eyes refused to open.

L finally pulled back to toss the bandage into the corner with disgust. "Raito." The boy failed to budge, the indifferent line that was his mouth curling into a deep frown, his eyelids clenching. "Raito." L allowed a little more indignation into his call this time, but it had little effect. So, reaching forward with his right hand, then, pulling back once he noted its current state, he delicately placed his left thumb and forefinger on opposing sides of Light's earlobe. Before the teen had the chance to react, L's jagged nails bit into the tender flesh and twisted in a partial circle.

"The _fuck_, Ryuzaki?!" Light flew backwards and collided with the concrete with a painful _thud_. He yelped, hands rising to caress the back of his skull as one eye bolted open in a wince. L grew fascinated as he witnessed the pupil dilate in that split second.

"Oh, did I hurt you? I apologize." The detective leaned backwards, thumb in his mouth as his eyes darkened. "After all, what would _I _know about physical pain?" Light shut his mouth at that, and L stared as the boy's eyes formed an invisible triangle as they flitted from his mangled leg, to his hand, and back to his face. After several moments, the older male rolled backwards, meticulously maneuvering the chair towards the closet-sized bathroom partially hidden in the opposing corner. The sound of rushing water filled the box as Light rested against the wall behind him and held his breath to stave off the panic that was gnawing away deep within his chest. "We should be thankful, Raito-kun," L called in Japanese from behind the thin blue screen concealing most of the bathroom.

"How so?" Why not humor the freak?

"They've allowed us a working toilet." Light stared at the naked bulb above him until his vision swam, breathing quietly as he listened to the squeaks and clatters from the opposite side of the box. "Apple soap. How wonderful," L crooned shakily as he busied himself with the tap.

-

Sean appeared abruptly a few minutes later, grunting, and a second set of footsteps were immediately identified as Eddie's. Light tensed, an unnamable aura surrounding him as L made his way through the curtain, turning rapidly before backing into a spot to the left of the boy.

L turned to look at his companion, who, for reasons unknown, did not have his face turned towards the motion within the other area of the box, instead opting to prick his ears almost like a dog's, and L suddenly pictured Light sprouting beeping antennae from the depths of his now lackluster hair as he craned his neck. He muffled a snort with his rotting stubs as the other pair set a cube-shaped box on the ground before him. Their captors turned back, conversing lightly amongst themselves as the door slid shut behind them.

"… It has air holes, Raito-kun," L murmured in Japanese from behind his thumb.

"Those are shadows, Ryuzaki." Light didn't even bother to look up at the detective.

"Perhaps they will dispose of us with black widows, or poisonous snakes." The teen glared up at L as the man blinked twice in rapid succession, eyes rising to focus on the door as his thumb traced noisy circles around his lips. "Perhaps they've given us a puppy?" Light snorted loudly.

"Shut up, Ryuzaki."

"I've always wanted one. Watari said no…" Light stared, incredulous as L rolled forward a couple of inches to kick lightly at the box with his good foot. "… I think I'll name him Lightning."

"Shut _up_, Ryuzaki." Light craned his neck forward to stare at the box. Both watched it for a while, one wide-eyed with a thumb smacking against his lips and the other glaring from behind his knees.

And suddenly Light was upon the object, a long chain jingling as it trailed behind him. The teenager rotated the box on the ground when he found that he did not have the strength to lift it, eyes sprinting over the neat, printed English words. "… Laptop. It's a laptop." Light crawled back against the wall, wide-eyed as he repeated the phrase to himself almost like a personal mantra. L never once removed his unblinking eyes from the cube, his thumb now buried to the knuckle in his lips.

-

"Move your ass, Matt. We've got work to do."

"'Kay." Mello glared from behind the stack of suitcases in his arms, Matt turning away from the TV to meet his gaze, mashing buttons as his onscreen avatar continued to kill that… thing. Whatever. The Japanese were weird.

"We've got ten minutes. You packed?"

"Yup. Just saying goodbye to my babies while you're finishing up." The younger boy stooped to press the power button of his PS2 before rising with protesting joints. The redhead took a swig from his 20 ounce can of Red Bull as he pawed at the wooden paneling of the hotel floor. With a grin, Matt plucked a floorboard up and reached into the darkness. Within twenty seconds he had emptied the alcove of thousands of dollars worth of electronic equipment and two dusty packs of cigarettes.

"_Matt_…"

"Just one cig a day, Mello. _One._" Matt lifted a finger to emphasize. "I never say anything about _your_ habit." Matt grinned, his eyes twinkling from behind his goggles. "… I bet you piss chocolate." Mello calmly proceeded to pull the golden lenses back, releasing the plastic when the resulting momentum would be great enough to leave a mark.

-

Both boys strolled through the electronic doors of the lobby just as the cab, its red 'vacant' light muted in the light of the rising sun, pulled up hesitantly to the curb and stopped, its driver scanning the small crowd before the vehicle. Mello opened the door and crawled across the faded plush seats, wordlessly lifting the card bearing his current alias when the driver protested. Matt crawled in after him and shut the door, his bony knees poking out from his khaki shorts as he fiddled with the angry blotch of red just below his hairline.

"… Where to then, sirs?" The cabbie guffawed like he had just uttered the funniest joke in history, his greasy black hair slapping against his blotchy complexion. Mello ran his eyes over the mug shot before him with a glare. Anthony Sunders; a name every bit as colorful as this character.

"There's a rest stop roughly twenty miles southwest of the Nevada border. Step on it; we're in a hurry." The man's protest was cut short when Matt wordlessly placed fifteen one hundred dollar bills on the driver's armrest.

"… Whatever you say." The car skidded off before the bills had a chance to settle in the driver's jeans pocket.

-

"So, why this far out?" Anthony asked roughly ten minutes later. Money made him feel like talking.

"Boy scouts," the redhead uttered in between directions from behind his GPS screen, and the blonde- Jonas something-or-another, according to his card- stopped his scribbling to glare at his companion.

"Mm-hmm." Anthony slowed the car as the light before him changed from green to yellow. Another forty-five minutes and he'd be at the outskirts of town; another four hours and he'd meet the California border. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel and whistled, casting an amused glance at the rearview mirror every few seconds. The vehicle lurched forward a moment later, and Anthony felt like singing as the resulting inertia pressed the hidden bills against his thigh. "So, how old are ya'll?"

"Old enough to kick your ass if you don't shut your mouth immediately." Jonas what's-his-face met Anthony's glare in the rearview mirror with one to rival it as he peeled the foil back from what appeared to be a medium-sized chocolate bar.

"Turn right at the next intersection," the redhead muttered into the stewing silence, entirely apathetic as he switched his attention from the GPS to the glowing screen of a scratched blue Gameboy.

-

Seventeen chocolate bars, one stop for gas, and one ten minute rest later, Mello was awakened from his writing coma with a gentle tap on the crown of his head from Matt, who was already crawling through the door before he had a chance to snap his book shut. Thirty-four pages in five hours; Mello smirked with a surge of pride as his boots kicked up a small cloud of dust. "Hold up," the blonde called when the car began to lurch from the baked soil. Matt was in the passenger seat before the driver had a chance to respond.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing?!" The man was silenced when Mello shoved four one hundred dollar bills directly beneath his nostrils, practically salivating as the blonde dropped the money and pulled himself back out of the car.

"You picked up the two men seen here." Mello gestured towards the glowing laptop screen balanced on Matt's thighs, which depicted two college-age men laughing as they slouched into the same car, very drunk as they bellowed out directions. Matt typed rapidly as he eyed the cord connecting the camera in the ceiling and the USB port of the computer. With a click of the mouse he put a thirty second interval on a limited loop before adding footage of more passengers who paid for a ride several months ago. The camera was only for surveillance, after all. "We never existed," Mello added for good measure.

"… You're the boss." Mello grabbed more suitcases as Matt finished up, placing them in a small pile to his left. He turned his head for a moment, eyeing the decrepit building that would be their home for the night, reassured when he saw no one.

Matt stepped out a moment later, his sandals crunching against the cracks in the soil as he maneuvered around the car door and slammed it shut. The taxi sped off without a moment's hesitation, its driver already planning out his purchases. The younger boy turned to stare at the restrooms, his companion doing the same as he crunched into a chocolate bar and clutched the leather handle of a bag.

"Matt. I'll set up camp. You know what to do."

"Mmm." They walked together for about two yards before splitting up, Mello making his way towards the men's restroom while Matt trotted towards the ladies', brandishing his laptop like a weapon as he eyed the first camera.

-

"Take good care of these. They were rather expensive for people like me," Sean muttered as he lifted a paper-cutter- an action which, despite what he told himself, Light flinched noticeably at- and cut into the first box. He placed a board across the armrests of L's wheelchair before stacking the accursed laptop on that, and L was rather disturbed by the fact that it fit comfortably. His reflection stared back at him from the dark screen, pale and exhausted and thoroughly unattractive. The keys of the keyboard grinned up at him, the letters accounting for individual teeth in the warped light. Lost in a surge of emotion that was fraying his nerves, he snarled at it. Only Light reacted to the sudden noise, leaping in his place as their captor continued to empty the packages. "So how long have you two been detectives?" Light didn't even bother with the paranoia that sprouted up with this question; in this moment in time, this man was God, able to decide who lived and who died, and petty details such as how he learned that they were not mere police officers, but _detectives_, escaped him as he released a lie.

"Hideki and I joined the NPA directly after we graduated from high school. We have connections, you see…" L was lost in his reflection's gaze while Light continued to focus on the box cutter, his heart rate spiking every time the blade pierced his personal bubble. "It's been about three years, now."

"Have you ever solved any cases?"

"Of course." _Don't stare, don't stare, don't stare._

"How many?" The clear tape squealed as it was severed from the cardboard.

"I'm afraid I've lost count."

"Hmm." Sean busied himself with the last box, a large one rising up to his hips. He pulled out what appeared to be parts of a cheap desk and set them against the wall currently supporting his younger captive. "'fraid this is the most I can do without Ed here, boys. It _is _after three in the morning, you know." Sean rose, the shadows darkening his blond crew-cut as he paced circles around the concrete box, his hands in his pockets. "… Guess I should get you two a clock. Calendar, too." The obsessive-compulsive student in Light Yagami wept at that, while his rational side dreaded the implications.

Without a word, Sean stepped into the darkness past the door, not even bothering to close it behind him.

Which meant he was not going to go far.

Damn.

Indeed, the man strolled in roughly a minute later, whistling over a platter of plastic-wrapped sandwiches. His captors ignored the touch of domesticity when he placed it on a box directly between the two, and within seconds they were stuffing their faces with bread. Sean stared as a dollop of grape jelly rolled down L's chin, only to be licked away when he snatched another sandwich from the glass plate. Light was too busy enjoying the simple flavors of mustard and pepper- a taste which he had taken for granted before- to worry about his usual regality.

"I need you to find someone for me." L and Light responded by ceasing their gorging, comically frozen in place before slowly lowering each sandwich. Light's glare was intense enough to bore a hole through the walls surrounding him, whereas L appeared lost in his own little world, not entirely there as he gazed emptily at his knees. "She's been missing for a few years, now. Real pretty. You would like her." Sean smiled dreamily to himself, staring at the ceiling.

And Sean abruptly shut off. Light, shocked into silence, stared as his captor stood frozen in place, grinning like an idiot at nothing with his knees bent and his eyes empty for more than two minutes. L began to count aloud. "Sixty-seven. Sixty-six. Sixty-_five_. Sixty-_four_." The detective continued as Light sat, mystified, losing himself in the shaking tenor echoing off of the concrete, half terrified out of his wits. Sean had done this numerous times before in the older male's presence, often setting fire to a meal or keeping a bite of food just out of his reach in the process. Shouting never worked, and L never had the chance to test physical jarring.

Not that he was brave enough to do so if given the chance.

"Forty-_eight_. Forty-_seven_."

L reached fourteen when Sean finally returned to the land of the living, his grin lingering for a moment as the light returned to his eyes. He licked his lips as his smile faltered. "Brown hair. Loved strawberry wine. Could peel an orange with one hand." He blinked, visage now emotionless as he lowered his gaze.

Light flinched when Sean abruptly wrapped his fingers around his ankle, failing to relax even when he realized that he was only undoing the chain. The teen was pulled up by the crook of his elbow, and he had to hop slightly before he could catch up with Sean's long strides. Only after the man had rolled out a futon one-handed and tossed him onto it effortlessly with the other did Light realize that he was now attached to the plumbing below the sink, the links jingling as he adjusted against the contours. He frowned. The foam failed to be an effective shield against the cold of the concrete floor.

L caught a thick quilt from his perch, scowling at the colorful dots on the cloth. He supposed another night sleeping like this wouldn't kill him.

_Sean could._

_Shut up._

"… You find her, you go home. Simple as that." Before Sean could finish his too-cheery 'g'night!', the gazes of his two captives met, and both of their suspicions were confirmed when their sights merged. Sincere doubt from both parties; Light almost laughed. Only when the comfort of the lit bulb left them with a shriek of the metal door did Light allow himself to speak.

"We all know that can't happen, you lying bastard."

-

Baby Jessica- and yes, you could take one look at her birth certificate and confirm that her idiot of a mother actually chose that name for her child- tapped a painted nail against the leather of the bike seat. When the steady rhythm failed to curb her irritation, she began to calculate just how much force was required to kick up a large cloud of dirt before she acted upon it several times. Mitch was taking too damn long. Baby licked her lips before pulling at the chain connected to her belt loops, emptying her wallet into a gloved palm within seconds. Two dollars and thirteen cents. Oh, why the hell not.

The heels of Baby Jessica's boots scuffed nature's floor several times as she made her way to the hum of vending machines. As she knocked the quarters into the designated slot and chose a sugary brand of lemonade, Baby decided that the person that had to refill these machines had to have the worst job in the world. A second and shudder passed and she decided that the poor sap that had to clean these bathrooms out smack in the middle of nowhere deserved a reward.

Probably was a wetback. Oh well.

Baby popped the top of the can and drank the carbonated nectar that was little more than a heart attack in a can, stepping away from the harsh light of the fluorescent bulbs. After chugging half of the can and coming to the realization that Mitch _had _to be doing more than taking a piss did she make eye contact with the child that was currently rubbing his skinny ass all over her seat. Taking in his khaki shorts, black sandals, and blue-and-white striped long-sleeve in the split-second the sliver of sun allowed her to, she settled on his shock of red hair and the swimming goggles that mussed it up.

The kid grinned without revealing his teeth, waving his arm in a quick arc. "Hiya!"

Just for the hell of it, Baby Jessica raised the hand that held the lemonade in a near-parody of a white-trash toast. "Yo." She made her way towards the bike, bending over backwards with another swig before stopping roughly a foot from the headlights. "And just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Is it not obvious?" The corner of Baby's mouth rose slightly as she detected a slight accent in his voice, wavering under the onslaught of puberty. She flashed back four years to her high school French class, remembering the similar intonation in Monsieur Blah-blah-blah's voice.

"Baby Jessica." The boy's eyebrows burst from his goggles and morphed into his hairline.

"Bond. James Bond." Mitch now had a rival in love.

Bond James Bond hiked a leg over the side of the bike, now straddling the seat rather than sitting side-saddle. Baby's dyed black pigtails bounced against her shoulders as she turned to face the restrooms, now sipping rather than chugging as she leaned against the headlights. "Was going to hotwire the beast. Wasn't relying on you getting a lemonade."

"Sucks for you then, huh?" Belch.

"Guess so." Bond James Bond grunted as his toothpick legs buckled against the ground, whistling cheerfully as he popped Baby's personal bubble. "_Say._" He raised a hand to rub at his chin in a motion too drawn-out to be real. His thumb rubbed circles into his flesh, and in a moment it was buried in his teeth as he released a piercing whistle. Baby Jessica shot left with a glare before she heard someone clear their throat, and in seconds she was navel-to-eye with a child dressed head-to-toe in black as they circled from around the side of the motorcycle.

Great. Baby was going to be mugged by some skinny twelve-year-old and his Madonna lookalike girlfriend in the middle of the desert. She calmly took a final sip from her lemonade, dropped the can, and rested her index finger against the pistol concealed in her vest.

"Nice bike," Madonna said. Oh dear God. If Madonna's voice was anything to go by, this was going to be a gang-rape rather than a mugging. Baby took a step back, smile bursting with venom. Madonna responded by reaching into the bag in his left hand. "You got a working phone?"

"Of course."

"Well, damn. Guess we'll have to buy it from you, then." His hand rose from the depths of the bag, clutching an undisturbed candy bar, its foil reflecting the artificial light of the rest stop as he eyed the handlebars. "How does seventy-five sound?" Baby Jessica allowed her expression to do the talking for her. "One hundred, then?"

Baby's obscene response was cut short when Madonna plucked a small pile of bills from the depths of his bag, staring at her with unblinking eyes as he noisily gnawed at the bar of milk chocolate. He placed it in her hand, and she flipped through the paper wrappings expressionlessly. All Benjamins.

Bought off by two gender-ambiguous children who in all likelihood had robbed a bank. Oh well. Baby's morals were questionable anyway- who else would be willing to shoot two kids without hesitation?-, and this _was_ her bike.

"Pleasure doing business with you, milady," Bond James Bond chirped. Baby smirked in response, treading off to the payphones when the roar of the motor began to fade, silently wondering just what kind of person would put a helmet over a pair of goggles.

-

"Mello, put your helmet on!"

"_What?_"

"_I SAID PUT YOUR FUCKING HELMET ON!_"

"_Shut up and stay in the bitch seat, bitch! … OW! The FUCK, Mail?_"

"_Pull us over and put in on or I swear to God I'm going to crash us!_"

"_FUCK YOU!_"

-

Mello made a show of counting the bruises on his abdomen, far too pissed to run a moving tire repeatedly over Matt's skull. Matt said nothing, switching his Gameboy SP to solar power from his seat on the resting bike as he stifled a yawn.

-

Matt, as always, clung to Mello for the first few seconds on the moving bike, leaving indentions in his torso as he felt one of the bags slap against his right calf. Slowly but surely, he loosened his grip, the inertia now no longer playing ping pong with his stomach.

The redhead rested his forehead against the inner confines of his own helmet, his view warped beyond recognition from beyond the two layers of plastic circling his head. Matt, listening to the steady hum of the motorcycle and the slight heartbeat before him, tightened his grip a final time, and fell asleep.

-

Somehow, L made it through the night. He had immersed himself in the tide when the realm of consciousness was too much to handle. The tide would then spit him back out when it decided that it didn't like his present state. The two realms lobbed him back and forth for several hours before his body decided that it had had enough.

L silently peeled back his eyelids to stare at a featureless ceiling, fidgeting a little as he slowly blinked. It took a few seconds for him to realize that he was lying on his back, and only when he lifted his left hand to gnaw at his thumb did he realize that it was trailed by a chain.

… When did he decide to switch wrists with Kira?

L rapidly pulled at the links until he felt a resistance, then a clink of metal meeting stone repeatedly. He saw a hand, an arm, the edge of a red tee shirt, and then Light.

A very annoyed Light.

Sitting cross-legged on the mattress (he _thought _it was the mattress…) directly to his left.

"Good morning, Raito-kun. Would you like Watari to bring you some breakfast?"

-

… Oh _hell_ no.

Light felt his face fall with disbelief, and the sensation was almost like water leaking down a drain, his cheeks and eyebrows melting into his neck as he placed the plastic bowl in his right hand next to the fallen spoon, milk and unsweetened cornflakes sloshing onto the concrete. Light wrapped his fingers around the neck of L's shirt, pulling up and craning his neck to meet the detective nose-to-nose.

"You choose _now_ to lose your mind, L? _Now_?" Light couldn't help it; he raised his right hand to slap him, anger coloring his face, punctuating his words as he shook the man like a rag doll. "_No_! You are coming back this instant and you are going to _eat your fucking breakfast_! Wake up! Wake _up_, you bloody troll! Time for work! Ding ding! You hear that? Your chair is waiting! She's out there, waiting for us! _Fuck_!" L slid from his grasp, wide-eyed and silent. Light wrapped his arms around his knees and screamed into his hands.

"Five hundred miles. Five hundred _fucking_ miles, L! Fuck Kira, fuck Kira with a sandpaper condom! That crazy bastard led us out here! He's laughing at us; _can't you hear him_? _Or are you too far away, you fucking toothpick_?" Light clawed his eyelids, his sinuses burning with the early conception of tears. No, men didn't cry, men never cried. _Dad_ never cried!

_He will when they find what's left of you, Yagami._

_If they _ever_ do._

"Gah! Shut up, shut up, shut _up_!" Light clawed at his scalp until it stung, until the tears crawled back into his sockets. He bit back his screams until he tasted blood, crushed his shoulders, beat the floor, unconsciously reverting back to his years as a toddler for several minutes.

And then he fell backwards, crushing his chained arm and knocking his head against the concrete. Light snorted through his nostrils, until finally, _finally_, his rage left him, and he fell asleep, his mind too hectic the night before- too hectic _every night-_ to allow him to do so then.

His body relaxed, his bent knees splayed out to the side like the wings of a butterfly.

-

A full three minutes passed before L drudged up the courage to drag Light to his side, the teen's limp body failing to respond as it resisted against the edge of the futon. He finally managed to flip him onto the foam, the student's breathing coming in drawn-out rushes as his hair was tossed around by the action.

Light's hair had gotten longer, L realized. Much longer. A little more time and he could tie it back. The detective curled a lock of his own hair around his finger and discovered that it didn't differ by much in comparison to Light's. L absentmindedly brushed Light's bangs from his nostrils, the action eliciting a mild groan from the teen.

L turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling for several minutes, eventually closing his eyes. The tide failed to appear. The detective didn't have the energy to writhe in response.

-

**Let me start off by thanking anonymous reviewers **_**Me **_**and **_**irotelveonurarms**_** (again!) for taking time to review, since I could not thank them formally. And special thanks to 4udball for leaving a patented Extra-Long-Review, which made me grin like the Cheshire Cat.**

**I've spent hours writing, and reviews leave me ecstatic. –nudge, nudge- Just like every other author on this site, I feed off of the words of strangers. :)**


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